


The Heart, An Ocean

by joy_shines



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: ...didn't say it was healthy found family, Aphrodisiacs, Drugs, F/M, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Oral Sex, Ritual Public Sex, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joy_shines/pseuds/joy_shines
Summary: When Dani wakes the next morning, her hair smells like burning wood and burning flesh. It makes her feel a little hungry - and then it makes her feel a little sick.Dani navigates the aftermath of the fire temple - and discovers what it means to be held.
Relationships: Dani Ardor & Hanna, Dani Ardor/Pelle (Midsommar)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 260
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Heart, An Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Croik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croik/gifts).



**ᛊ - SOWILO**

Bright rays banish dark;  
Sun slays ignorance;  
Day’s star shows pure truth.   
\- _Rubi Radhr_ , “Poems of the Runes”

When Dani wakes the next morning, her hair smells like burning wood and burning flesh. It makes her feel a little hungry - and then it makes her feel a little sick, when she remembers exactly _whose_ flesh was burning. A small, worried voice in the back of her head advises her to _get up, get out - you don’t want to puke in the bed_ , so she stumbles out of the young folks’ sleeping quarters into the white-bright light of the morning. When she feels the sun on her skin, sees the world looking washed-clean and sparkling-new...the nausea fades. The worried little voice in her head is enumerating the reasons that she _should_ be sick, that she _should_ be anxious and panicking - but it seems very far away when confronted with just how vibrant the world seems.

She’s at breakfast, and the plain porridge with honey and lights up her tongue in a way that she’s imagined happens only in the fanciest restaurants. _You must be drugged - this can’t be true, nothing can be this good_ , the voice in her head urges. But she knows the truth - she isn’t awash in the overwhelming flow of sensations that she’d felt during the dancing yesterday, nor yet the intensity of meaning she’d known in the celebratory dinner and...what came after. She feels...she feels, instead, like a pane of glass, a window, washed clean for the first time in years. The light can finally reach her; the food can finally nourish her; she can finally let the beauty she sees all around her sink below her surface, enriching her core. 

It’s easier, today, to fall into the ways of Hårga - the warm meetings of eyes, the press of a glass to the shoulder of a girl she’d danced with yesterday, Pelle’s hand cupping her head in the strong afternoon sunlight. Today, he tells her, is a day of rest. Part of the festival, yes, but not a day for structured dances and heavy experiences. It is a time for eating, for sleeping, for connecting and re-connecting with each other in the wake of the previous day’s intensity. A day for seeing the world, as it is, in all its loveliness and pain. A day for seeing ourselves, he says, not to judge, but to _know_ ourselves better. For the first time in as long as Dani can remember, the idea of self-knowledge doesn’t fill her with fear.

**ᚷ - GEBO**

Gift calls for a gift;  
Bonds often renewed  
Weather well rough winds.  
\- _Rubi Radhr_ , “Poems of the Runes”

This time, when she drinks from the offered glass, fire crackling in the background and the drums and flutes filling the air, this time, she knows what’s coming. 

“Today’s sacrifice,” Pelle explained as they washed breakfast dishes that morning, “this is - it is just as important as the fire temple, but it is something we do every year.” He must see her anxiety - it’s not that she regrets her choices, precisely, but one day of rest is certainly not enough to bring her enough equanimity to see something like that _again_ \- because he rushes ahead, “There are, eh, many kinds of sacrifices, you know! You know how you blessed our fields, as the May Queen? This is a little like that. In the fire temple, we gave over lives to one of our Gods - tonight, we’ll be giving a bit of all our lives to one of our Goddesses.” He smiles, a little shyly, “I promise you, Dani, it’s much nicer than the other rite.” 

And he explains, explains that everyone but the children and their caretakers take part in this - that it’s a way of strengthening the bonds of community. “And,” he says, the back of one hand resting on the side of her neck - a gesture that seemed insurmountably foreign when she encountered it days ago, but now feels like a balm to her anxious brain, “no-one will make you take an active part, if you do not wish it. But, Dani - if you _want_ to, no one will think less of you, either. It is a time of liberty, of freedom. And if you want it...I will be there with you.” He coughs, shy again, “If that would help.” 

She smiles - she hasn’t forgotten the way his lips felt on her, fresh from her crowning as May Queen - and nods. It’s going to be weird as shit...but, then what here _hasn’t_ been? 

And here she is, warm and buzzing with the tea - watching the fire bend in ever-more improbable ways, and trying to keep breathing slowly as she watches more bodies revealed, sees couples - or groups of more than two, she notices - sink to the ground, or find a convenient tree. She feels the tea acting on her: the way the space between her legs seems to pulse in time with the drumbeats, the way her nipples tighten, and her skin seems to beg to be touched. She reaches out, and Pelle’s there, his pupils blown with tea and - desire? 

He pulls her to him, hand cradling her jaw, “It’s alright, Dani. It’s alright. It’s supposed to feel this way - like you’re maybe too big for your skin, like the fire is a bit _in_ you, too.” She breathes, trying for slow and easy, but Pelle stops her, “Here, try this, Dani - don’t fight it, don’t try to calm it down. It helps if you _ride_ it instead - go where it takes you. Like this - “ and he breathes, a pattern of several short, percussive breaths, followed by a long exhale. It seems to match the drumming, and she finds herself going along with it, feeling her breath like a bellows, feeding the fire inside her. Her body - her body wants to _move_ , is desperate to move, and then she’s writhing, her eyes locked on Pelle’s. 

“That’s it, Dani. That’s it. Let it lead you - let your body tell you what she wants.” She gasps at this, because she’s never _felt_ want like this in her body - not when she first had sex; not ever with Christian, not even when she felt desperate for closeness with him did she feel _this_. “I - I don’t know. I don’t know what my body wants, Pelle - it’s never felt this way, and I...want...I just…” She shivers, pushing herself flush against him, caught up in the flames inside her. His hand moves to her hair, stroking, “That’s ok. It’s ok. What we offer tonight is our pleasure and energy - so what would make you feel good?” Her face turns upwards - he hasn’t kissed her again, since her crowning, and she wants to know if it’s just as good now, like this. She pushes up towards him, begging him to meet her halfway - and he does, warm lips on hers, letting her lead, but meeting her wherever she goes. When they break, she’s gasping, nearly overwhelmed with the need to be touched, to be touched all over.

“Please, Pelle - I, I want you to touch me. I want to touch you...I want…” a sudden, practical concern lances through her pleasure and drug-fogged mind, and pierces her with anxiety, “I _don’t_ want, um,” she looks away, “...intercourse. I...I’m sorry...I want to touch you, but I don’t want...that...I’m…” But his hands are gentle on her shoulders, and his voice warm in her ear, “Dani, min kära, you never have to be ashamed about what you want or don’t want, here. I want to touch you in every way that will please you, and no way that will harm you.” The sounds around them, of the drumming and the flutes and the Hårgans giving of their pleasure to each other and their Goddess, are cresting, and she can’t stand to be clothed any longer. 

Pelle steers her to a soft tuft of grass, and helps her as she tugs at her new linen clothing. She has a bare moment of shyness as she lays there, unclothed, watching him reveal himself to her, but then he’s laying alongside her, and the touch of skin on skin is electric. Her very hands feel hungry for the shapes and textures of him. She can only imagine that he’s burning with the same desires she feels - but his hands run gentle and patient along her collarbones, down her arms, over her hips, shaping her, seeing her. Finally, she asks, “Please, god, Pelle, please - I want you to...to...please…” He smiles, a wider, truer grin than she’s used to seeing on his face, and asks, with only a tiny bit of teasing, “What is it, Dani? What is it you want me to do?” At her wordless protest, he takes mercy on her, “Do you want me to touch you here,” sliding his hand over her breasts, “Or perhaps you want my fingers here?” slipping that same hand down, over her mons, cupping her vulva. 

“Fuck, Pelle, yes, please - there - I, just, _there_ ,” she pants, and he slides a finger between her lips - oh, she can feel just how wet she is. “You flow for me here, min drottning, like a fountain, such a gift you give me.” He’s circling her clit, now, one slick finger drawing firm circles, and Dani knows she must be making sounds, because nothing has ever felt so good and right - but she can’t hear herself, so caught up is she in the feelings. “Dani, I want to taste you, put my mouth on you here. Would you like to give me that?” It’s all she can do to shove at his shoulder, pushing him down towards her core. He slides a finger inside her, first, and at her whine, adds another, then bends his head and puts his mouth on her. 

If she’d been capable of holding expectations, Dani would’ve expected that he’d be pressing her towards her finish, diving in fast and hard - but no. He’s barely moving his fingers at all, just a gentle rocking that, somehow, pushes her higher and winds her up tighter, coupled with slow, firm, strokes of his tongue. Time...loses all meaning. Dani is no longer part of the linear flow of hours and minutes, but caught, irrevocably, in the eternal **now**. After unspecified aeons, the oceans of pleasure crash over her in a climax that is less a peak than a plateau of blinding, cleansing pleasure. 

When she comes back, a bit, to herself, she finds Pelle laying alongside her again, his fingers still, very gently, moving in her - and her hips moving in time with them. Before anything else, she kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him more, for good measure. “That was...I don’t even know what that was. But...erm, I...I should, erm...I want you to feel good, too.” His finger traces her lips, and she catches a salty tang, “My dear Dani, you have already given me the best gift. I could not possibly hold myself back, feeling you come apart for me.” She trembles at the thought of him stroking himself off while fingering her, unable to wait, so aroused by her pleasure. His fingers are still moving in her, and she feels lazy, luxuriant, greedy, even. “It feels to me, though, that you have more treasures to give. Shall we see what gifts we can find together?” She nods, presses against his fingers, and pulls him tighter to her.  
  


**ᛚ - LAGUZ**

River rides so swift;  
Lake lays still and deep;  
The heart, an ocean.  
\- _Rubi Radhr_ , “Poems of the Runes”

Two weeks later, the hard, sparkling edge of the festival has softened into something easier to bear, something warmer and more familiar - something, the Hårgans tell her, that is what “home” is meant to be. She vaguely knows that she probably _should_ be making plans to leave, but...well, why? Why return to a disconnected and painful life? Why leave her new sisters and brothers - and lover and mentors - when there was nothing for her back in the States? She knows, in the distant, back of her mind that she will, no doubt, have quite a lot to process about this large change of life...but for the moment, she’s content. And content, she’s learning, is extremely nice.

It’s _nice_ doing the lunch dishes with Hanna - nice, and a little strange, just standing here, washing dishes and chatting about what community life would look like for the rest of the summer - when the harvest would need to be taken in, what sort of winter preparations would be made. The little voice in the back of Dani’s head, which she’d come to think of as The Spoilsport, and was getting better at ignoring, is currently reminding her that _Hanna was sitting on the floor, screaming with you as you bawled your eyes out over Christian, barely two weeks ago. And now you’re just - what, doing chores?_

The normalcy after vulnerability _was_ strange, Dani conceded. In her world, till now, the people you were most vulnerable with weren’t usually the people she had smalltalk with. But, this was a new world. And vulnerability could be...just another part of a relationship? Whatever it was - Hanna _had_ been there for her when she most needed it...and...and... _and you think you can trust what she did? You know she knew what was going on, right? And she had the absolute gall to pretend sympathy with you, when she knew, she was in on what was happening?_

For the first time since the day of the fire temple, Dani feels the old panic rising, choking her, closing in around her. In a moment, Hanna is there, hand on her shoulder, looking at her with concern, “Dani? Are you well? Here, let us sit - “   
“No, no, no, no,” the old refrain pounds at her as she pushes Hanna’s hands away, “no, no, I...you...you _knew_ , you pretended to be sorry for me, to be sad for me, but _you knew_.” She’s backed herself into a corner now, crouching, weeping. “It was all a lie, it’s all been a lie...I can’t...I need…” She opens her eyes to see Hanna, kneeling on the floor, a few feet away. She doesn’t look angry, like Dani expects someone might, after being called a liar, but serious, and a bit sad. 

“Dani,” she says, gently, “Dani, I have been on pilgrimage. I have seen the way things are, out there. I know our ways are very different. But, please,” she raises her hands, asking for a little more time, “try to understand, yes?” 

“I don’t...I don’t _get_ it - what is there to understand? You helped him cheat on me...and...and...you all pretended you were my _friends!_ ”

“We are your friends. We are your family, Dani, if you will let us be. Yes, I knew what was happening. It was necessary. It is a good, for the community, to add new genes to the bloodlines. But!” Hanna raises her hands again, as Dani starts to speak, “That does not mean it was a happy thing for you. We understand this: that a thing may be right and proper, may be needed for us...and it may be hurtful to someone. Please know - we were not pretending. We grieved for your grief. We have all - all of us - felt grief and pain over something that was necessary. That was right and proper. And our community did not hold it against us. No, they _held us_ , Dani, until we had cried our tears and had our anger, until we could move forward. And that is what we wanted to do for you.”

That _was_ how it had felt - like each of the women in the group with her had _known_ what it was to feel what Dani was feeling, and was willing to go to that place of pain again, to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone in it. She snuffles, unwilling to let go of the anxiety until she has a good damn reason, and presses, “So...you don’t think I’m stupid for being upset? For not being...ok with everything I saw?”

“Dani, we don’t pretend everything that must happen is easy, or without sadness. Did you not hear us grieve for the pain and fear of those in the fire temple? Did you not hear us join in Olof’s pain when the ättestupa went badly? But, here is how we are different: we put the hurt right out there, together, so that it does not fester inside us like...like a sore, or a sickness.” Hanna sounds so sincere, and Dani feels like this is it, this is the last hurdle, but she has to know.

“But...I’m _so_ different. I’ve got so much...sickness inside me, and I don’t know _how_ to let it out. I...I would _need_ too much. I would tire you out. Hårga would get tired of me - I’d be a burden.” Hanna looks - well, Dani thinks, she looks appalled, like such a suggestion is not only unthinkable but downright offensive. She rushes to Dani, cradling her in her arms. 

“Nay, nay Dani! We would _never_. We know, of course we do, that you will have much...adjustment to do. But - see here - you have already done so much! You have let us help you! You have opened yourself to our ways - you have hoisted the cup, and drunk down the bitter and the sweet. You are willing, and that is worth much. We are all here for you, for what you need from us, if you will only take it.”

A rush of images, all the things she’s been denied, crowd her mind, and she can feel herself shake with it. The Spoilsport drowns under a rush of cataclysmic grief too long repressed, too long denied. She bites her lip, hesitates on the edge - and then lets herself fall over. Crouching in the kitchens of her new home, Dani holds fast to her dear sister, and she screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear croik! I was delighted to find that you'd requested Midsommar! I spent a whole lot of my summer yelling about this film with just about anyone who would listen. I hope these vignettes of Dani finding her place in Harga are everything you desired. Thank you so much for your prompt, and I hope your Yuletide is merry and bright! 
> 
> On Character Naming: “Hanna” is the name assigned to Louise Peterhoff’s character, who, near as I can tell, is the woman in primary contact with Dani during the cathartic screaming.


End file.
